


A Casual Arrangement

by Lani



Series: roman holiday [3]
Category: Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot | They Call Me Jeeg (2015), Wolf (2013)
Genre: Fabio's struggles are unending, Hotel Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, so are Majid's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lani/pseuds/Lani
Summary: Majid and Fabio spend a heated night out on the town. Nothing out of the ordinary. ...Right?
Relationships: Fabio Cannizzaro/Majid Zamari
Series: roman holiday [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977745
Comments: 25
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to furiously who helped plot this fic out and beta-read the whole thing!

The bell rings. It is the only clear-cut sound in the whole gym, bright and sharp against the amorphous roar of voices. There is a lot of shoving and pushing on the stands with everybody elbowing his neighbor out of the way for a better view. They all press towards the center of the hall, where the real action is. The ring has been set up so that the audience can get a good look in from all sides, or else hurl abuse at an underperforming fighter. Not much to blame them for, that. Nobody is here for the love of the sport. Everybody has skin in the game, and a couple grand too. The chatter and applause surge and fall at odd intervals. There is no real rhythm to the noise and in the midst of the crowd it must be a deafening chaos.

Fabio is all too happy that he doesn’t have to count himself among the desperate faceless masses. Up among the audience you’d get about half as beat up as the guys in the ring. No, he sits nice and pretty right below the cordon. Best seat in the house, and he hasn’t paid a cent for it either. Those self-styled ‘sponsors’ can eat their hearts out. He has a different way of pulling strings.

In the ring, Majid pushes out of his corner and slams his gloves together in anticipation. The heavy spotlights glance off his shoulders, his skin slick with sweat from the previous fight. He looks like he stepped right out of a porno shoot: Rippling muscles, bulging pecs, in nothing but black sports shorts and grip socks. Fabio is loving the angle, too. He has a front row seat to the way Majid’s thighs tense, the way his calves define themselves with every step, toes digging into the floor.

He keeps his shorn head down, behind the defense of his raised fists, and starts forward. Fabio leans in. The first two punches collide hard with the opponent’s shielding forearms. Majid instantly swings with his whole weight behind it. The sound of raw strength ramming into yielding skin briefly drowns out the cheering crowd. Now everything is happening at once. The opponent ducks away, faceless, unimportant, and Majid follows suit. He corners him against the barrier and with a sharp turn of his torso, he manages to deliver a quick jab to the man’s ribs with his knee. Fabio is certain he can hear something crack. The sound enters his system like a searing injection to his veins. It runs through his body, this feeling of coiling excitement. It makes him shiver.

This is his favorite part. He can sit here and watch as the bulwark of raw power that is Majid absolutely demolishes the meat sack in front of him. Tension and fury crackle like electricity in the air and make Fabio’s hairs stand on end. He wishes he could be closer, feel the heat that radiates off the straining bodies. Majid twists himself with predatory grace. His muscles stretch and shift under his tan skin. Before Fabio can do more than blink, another barrage of clenched fists pound into the retreating fighter. Majid lets up just enough to land on the balls of his feet and soak up the recoil. His low grunts and gasps come in perfect tandem with the heaving of his broad shoulders. He labors like a draft horse. His whole body is trembling with exertion, but he drives it on. It’s a damn spectacle and Fabio can almost feel the wet heat of Majid’s breath as it explodes from his parted lips. He knows damn well what it feels like to have those muscles shiver under his touch, even as he gets slammed into a wall for it. Fast-paced, rough, in reckless abandon and without mercy. Majid fights the way he fucks.

The moment his opponent thinks he can get an attack in, the Moroccan is back in his face. Fabio likes to think that he has gotten a feeling for it by now. It’s just mindless brawling at the end of the day, nothing that demanded a lot of strategy. Wait until the enemy fucks up, then fuck him. Easy. Well, easy to remember anyway. But Majid has made an art of it. He pummels his opponent mindlessly, overwhelms him with aggression, strikes the fear of God into his heart. Then he retreats, just for a second, just to let the guy start a reckless offensive in return. They always fall for it. They think it’s their turn now, that they are afforded a fighting chance. So they lean back to swing and open up their defenses. And then – Whack! 

Feet skid and stumble. A massive body staggers into the ropes. Majid is right there with him, one hand to the side of his head, to align the jaw just right. It looks almost tender, for one second. Then the glove makes contact. Majid’s fist connects to the man’s face with the energy of a thrusting piston. Again and again and again.  _ Fuck _ , yes!

A jerk of adrenaline nearly sends Fabio to his feet, his eyes wide with excitement, his hair in his face. He is so wrapped up in the display of focused violence he feels every burst of energy as if it hits him, too. Small twitches run through his shoulders, his legs, as he mimics the movements in the ring. His even breathing has turned into flat panting, his pulse rushing in his ears as he blinks against the blinding lights. Fabio can only imagine what it’s like for Majid who really feels the shocks of the punches running up his arms. He is heady with the fantasy of that much power and the knowledge of what that power can do to a living person. Fabio finds that his tight dark clothes don’t serve him in the heat of the packed arena. It’s like he’s being cooked alive in his own skin. Not to mention that he is rock hard.

Majid stands over the boxer as he collapses. He goes down like a sack of wet cement and doesn’t move from there. The world swirls around him. It all comes back to him in blooming spots of color. The dull soundscape of thunder in his ears slowly solidifies and takes on shape. Details grow out of the fuzzy hum like spikes. And then suddenly the wall of noise crashes into him full force. Majid looks up to a rush of cheering and roaring voices. He isn’t sure what they’re so excited about. The outcome was clear the second they sent this clown out against him. Majid spits out to the side. The taste of iron and salt coats his tongue. He must’ve bitten his lip in the heat of the moment. No wonder. His hand is acting up again. That gets him to clench his teeth when he throws a punch. He could barely close his fist in the glove towards the end. But this was the last of them. He is done for the night. There are no more mugs to polish. Collect your applause and piss off.

When he turns to duck out of the ring, his eyes cut to the side, almost out of reflex. He is searching for a specific face in the confusion of bodies. Fabio pestered him all week about tonight, made him swear up and down that he’d get him a good seat to watch. (Like Majid has any say on that matter.) But he’s nowhere to be seen now. He must’ve left during the last round. Maybe something came up. Majid forcefully dulls the edge of disappointment that digs into his stomach. He isn’t fighting for the fucking Italian. Though if he were to be honest with himself, which he avoids on principle, he’d have to admit that the thought of Fabio almost drooling on himself while he watches Majid decimate some poor bastard… That thought has spurred him on in the past. He doesn’t take himself for a show-off but there’s something about the way Fabio looks at him afterwards that stabs into the depths of a very primal part of Majid’s brain. Next thing you know he’s lobotomized with lust. It’s hot. So the absence of that look now leaves a cold spot in his gut. Better keep an eye on that.

The door to the makeshift lockers slams behind him. Majid digs his teeth into the cord that ties up his left glove and rips it loose. The gloves come off one by one and his wraps follow. It all lands at his feet as he carefully flexes the fingers of his right hand. It complains, it aches. And it’s not the only part of him. The first signs of pleasant exhaustion are prickling under his skin and just to inhale drives a spike between his ribs. A small smile tugs at his lips. He screams into the void and his body screams back. That’s all he wants out of this. This surging, this calm.

His little moment is interrupted by the clicking of the door handle behind him. Majid straightens up and turns his head, expecting one of the fighters to come limping in like a kicked dog. Instead Fabio slips into the room, his fingers fanning out against the door as he closes it behind him. His motions are slow and deliberate, in a deceptively casual way. His eyes keep wandering. They take in the vacant locker room, the adjacent showers, the empty benches. Majid raises his brows and allows himself a moment of surprise at the display.

“Where were you, man? I thought you’d-”

He doesn’t get to finish the thought. It only takes Fabio four long strides to cross the room. Before Majid can catch up with the keeling atmosphere in the room, Fabio collides with him full force. His hands crawl into Majid’s hair and curl into it, hard. There is a hiss building in the back of Majid’s throat, but it quickly twists into a sigh. Fabio tugs him down and forces their mouths together in an open kiss. A low-pitched growl gets trapped between their teeth when Majid’s back meets with the metal locker door behind him. The kiss alone sends a fire through his senses that melts everything else away. Fabio tastes like stale smoke and cherry gum. It’s familiar and exciting at once. Every nerve that has been opened by the high voltage punch of adrenaline to his system is now brimming with the sensation of Fabio’s lean body pressing up against his. He can feel the heat of his chest beyond the unbuttoned shirt. Majid instinctively grabs at him. His hands wrap around Fabio’s thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his pants. Aching joints be damned. He wants this man to climb into his arms and wrap his stupidly long legs around his waist. 

And he does. Fabio uses the leverage as if he’s never done anything else. He pulls himself up when he feels Majid lifting him, arms locked around his neck in a vise-like grip. His hips rut mindlessly against Majid’s thigh and it treats him to the intoxicating feeling of Fabio’s erection rocking against him. He is stiff as a rod in his tight expensive trousers. The feeling invites other, more drastic ideas. Ideas that involve those trousers tangling around Fabio’s crossed ankles behind Majid’s back and Fabio getting fucked within an inch of his life against the locker until every smart comment he wants to make comes out as moaned gibberish. Majid almost bites his lip bloody thinking about it and his hips snap forward instinctively in search for some more of that delicious friction. Then the grip in his short hair tightens and his neck is bent back. He feels his pulse beating rapidly in his main artery. They are both sucking in air to catch their breath, but Fabio recovers faster.

“You were so fucking hot out there,” Fabio’s lips split into a grin against Majid’s slack mouth. “I’m gonna suck your dick until your eyes cross.”

The legs around his middle tighten their grip mercilessly and Majid feels a low groan swelling in his throat. He can’t help it. Fabio pushes his buttons masterfully. Next to lust and pleasure a second, smaller flame begins to burn. It’s something akin to shame but not the kind that’d put a stop to your actions. Majid feels dirtied by the wet mouth on his neck. He feels dirtied by the domineering hands in his hair, by the cock that twitches against his groin. He feels so good. He wants this. He wants the dirt. He wants Fabio most of all. He wants to bury his fingers in that lank hair and fuck him into the bed until he can’t think straight anymore. And yeah, he wants that mouth on him. He wants the tongue, the dangerous teeth. The thought of Fabio on his knees locks his body in a hot grip.

He almost doesn’t hear the voices. He almost loses himself in Fabio’s promises, in the feeling of his weight in his arms. But only almost. Very suddenly Majid recalls where they are. His eyes snap open and whatever he is about to say dies in his throat. Two sets of feet are lumbering down the stairs towards the locker room, pausing briefly out in front of the door. The handle stirs.  _ Shit! _ Majid pushes Fabio off. This catches him entirely off guard and he has to scramble back to his feet with a biting curse. Then Fabio hears it, too. He jerks his head around to the door, then back to Majid, comically wide-eyed.

“Move it!” Majid hisses at him, before he grabs the slighter man by the shoulders. He shoves him towards the showers, hauling him off to one of the stalls with sheer muscle power (“Okay, okay, okay, Jesus fucking Chr-“). There he slams the door shut and turns around. For a moment he has to focus solely on his breathing. His body is humming with arousal and adrenaline. Even if he gets his pulse to a normal level, he can’t do shit about his raging hard-on in the next thirty seconds. The sudden absence of any stimulation whatsoever sends a vengeful ache through his abdomen and he grimaces to himself. His skin feels like it's pulled taut over his body. The furnace in the pit of his stomach is burning out under painful protest. Goddammit, Fabio, you stupid son of a bitch.

Majid takes a deep breath and steels himself. No, he should have known better than this, too. They need an alternative plan for stunts like this. Rutting like a dog in heat the first chance he gets, is that his style now?  _ Get a fucking grip _ , he chastises himself. Then he grabs a towel to wrap around his waist and gets back out there to get dressed.

He listens with his head leaned against the locked shower stall. The voices are distorted by the bathroom walls, tiny echoes bouncing off the tiles. Fabio doesn’t have to strain his ears to pick out Majid either way. Just listen for the guy who can’t pry his teeth apart when he talks. He’s making some very stilted small talk right now and Fabio likes to imagine that he’s having a rough time of it, that his thoughts keep wandering, that he can’t focus. Feeling hot under that towel, big boy? Fabio grins to himself and continues to lazily stroke his shaft. His jeans hang low and he has to take care not to rustle his belt too suddenly while he jerks himself. It is kind of exciting, the threat of being found out. He knows how much that’d fuck with Majid’s macho reputation. Rarely does anything shake that man’s carefully arranged composure, but this one, the thought of getting caught fooling around with another guy, that had him acting frantic for a second there. Nothing Fabio hasn’t seen before in guys like that, but he likes it in Majid. Fear is one hell of an aphrodisiac. Especially other people’s fear.

Fabio briefly sinks into a fantasy where Majid is in the stall with him, pinned against the wall and biting his knuckles bloody, while Fabio chokes himself on Majid’s thick cock. He can almost hear the gagged moan that he’d squeeze out of the stoic boxer with a hard suck and a swirl of his tongue. In his fantasy, he can see the way Majid’s eyes would roll back into his head while his hips arch desperately into his waiting mouth. Knees buckling, hips pumping, trying to bite back a groan; that is the kind of crazed helplessness he aims for. Fuck, he’d take the disgusting shower room floor in stride for that.

The sound of a door slamming shut unkindly jostles Fabio from his lush mindscape. He stops the urgent hand between his legs and hurries to stuff himself back into his pants, tight fit though it is. With bated breath, he listens for movement outside the stall. He licks his lips and shakes two loose strands of hair away from his face. Then a knock shakes the lacquered pressboard. It’s dull and forceful, delivered with the meaty flat of a fist.

“They’re gone.” Majid’s voice is just a mutter, but Fabio has the door half ripped open before the air leaves his lungs. Instead, however, of colliding with a pair of bulging pecs, he is met with Majid’s dubious sweater and leather jacket combo. Fabio stops in his tracks, a look of utter outrage on his face.

“The fuck is this?” He gestures at the full set of clothing and the orderly appearance. By comparison Fabio looks like he just stumbled off a porno set. His shirt is half untucked, his pants open, hair disheveled and his cheeks still flushed with excitement. “I thought we had something going here.”

The look Majid gives him is unreadable. It could have passed for pissed off, if there hadn’t been this slight slant to his darkened lips. Whatever it is meant to convey, it sparks a fire in Fabio’s core that sends a crawling frisson up his spine. Majid’s eyes are impossibly dark but their intensity pierces Fabio like the glint on a knife’s edge. A slow breath expands the fighter’s frame, shifts his shoulders back and swells his broad chest. He has his jaw clenched as if in anger but there is no hostility to it. Hunger. That’s what it is. Fabio feels the heat in his lower body coil and tighten and in the wake of that feeling, his offense wanes.

“You got your car parked out front?” Majid asks, impatient. His voice is barely more than a hoarse growl. It doesn’t fit in with the sense of composure he’s trying to convey here. Fabio glances down and finds the reason. All self-restraint aside, Majid can’t downplay the straining bulge in his pants. The little intermezzo has evidently done nothing to quell his excitement. He must be burning up inside. Oh, they are _so_ _definitely_ still on track. Fabio nods. Of course he has his car out front.


	2. Chapter 2

The streetlights zap past outside as the car weaves its way through the nightly traffic. Majid is sitting rigid in the driver’s seat, his blank stare nailed to the windshield. He is pressed against the backrest, white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel. At any sign of an open stretch of road ahead, he floors it. There is a destination he has in mind, and they can’t get there fast enough.

When the usually so jealously guarded keys landed in his hands, he didn’t follow the thinking, but by now he has caught up. It was a matter of priorities, each man to the task best suited to him. Though he doesn’t drive like an Italian, which is a disadvantage in the maze of Rome’s city streets, he has quickly adopted their sense of urgency. It’s a considerable challenge to follow traffic laws with Fabio’s head bobbing in his lap.

An array of small wet sounds fills the silence, soft and intimate. Majid shifts restlessly, sweat gathering at the back of his neck. Fabio’s tongue presses flat against the underside of his shaft and he sucks him deep into the hollow of his mouth. He doesn’t play coy. Majid’s hips are aching to follow the pull, aching to fuck into him. But he holds still. That’s all he can do. He is driving. He can’t get away from where he is. Fabio damn well knows that. He knew that when his hand snuck over to his thigh and when he opened his fly with impressive finger dexterity. This is what a lifetime of picking locks and hotwiring cars amounts to. At Majid’s startled expression, Fabio simply treated him to a wink and a grin and leaned over to wrap his hot lips around the head of his cock.

Gravity itself seems to have shifted downward around him the second all his blood rushed into his lower body. He feels light-headed. His pulse is working at a speed that’d put a jackhammer to shame. It is worse because he cannot move. He has to endure, keep a cool head, while all the rest of him is going up in flames. But Fabio is cruel by nature and it’s difficult to work up a rhythm in a moving car. Majid remains in a limbo of arousal that neither lets him calm down nor find relief. Fabio expertly keeps him on edge until the slow, warm buildup tips over into searing hot pain. The sting of it drives itself up into his spine and to his eyes. It is all he can do not to let the world around him blur out.

The car rolls to a stop at an intersection, halted by a red glare overhead. Majid finds himself drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in an agitated staccato. Even through the mounting pleasure, he cuts a wary glance to the neighboring car. They can’t see what’s going on in his lap, there’s no way. But a paranoid part of him wants to make sure. He’s fucked in cars before. All the stops, open mouths, hands on tits, foggy windshield. In the backseat you go, contort yourself for all it’s worth, leg cramps be damned. But this is different. This feels high-stakes and dangerous and exciting. New. And it comes with all the risks and fears of new things. Majid just barely suppresses a groan.

Fabio is lifting his head, finally, to come up for air, but he does it slowly. He’s all action, all hum and drum and ceaseless fidgeting, but he knows when to shift into low gear. He pulls off Majid’s straining erection as if it’s a goddamn lollipop: lips clinging to the curve of him, his tongue tracing the welts of his veins as if to savor every little taste. Majid feels his cock twitch weakly into the touch. Then his torturer releases him with a soundless gasp, a small concession to the fact that, while Fabio was playing Majid like a damn fiddle, he was also playing himself. He looks up with a slanted, panting grin. His lips are glistening wet and ruddy and he forms them to a small O to blow softly on Majid’s tip. A shudder races through his body and he hits the wheel with the flat of his palm. A jerk makes the car jump forward when he releases the brake and they immediately speed off. A horn wails behind them.

“If we crash it’s your fault.” Majid husks out.

Fabio props himself up, an elbow digging into his thigh, and he’s laughing. Open mouth, teeth glinting, his hand on Majid’s cock. “If you crash my car I’ll fucking kill you, buddy.”

By some miracle, they do not crash. Fabio finally relented and sat himself back upright in the passenger seat. He’s busy with himself, his long legs sprawled out as far as possible. Majid thinks he’s enjoying this in more than one way. He enjoys the attention first and foremost, and Majid is helpless in giving it to him. Every little thing he does, Majid registers and files away. Fabio moans and a current strikes his nervous system. He sighs, he shifts, Majid is there, taking note. His eyes keep wandering downward. And Fabio enjoys, to some extent, that he’s not responsible for the outcome of the night. There had been a little back and forth before—

“What’s the plan here?”

“Hm?”

“You’re heading downtown.”

“We’re not going back to your place.”

“...Is that so?”

“I’m sick of the smell. We’re doing something else.”

Fabio for one would have been content enough with the backseat of the car. But there is something enticing about Majid’s sudden bout of determination and Fabio tries not to distract him too much from whatever goal he is aiming for. It seems to pay off. When Majid slows the Audi down and hits reverse to park, Fabio finds himself face to face with the well-lit entry stairs of a hotel. It’s nothing jaw-dropping fancy, but it sure as fuck is better than any place he’s ever stayed. He looks back at Majid who is now hastily fixing his appearance, tucking his swollen cock back into the tight confines of his pants.

“Are you serious?” He doesn’t try to fight off the incredulous chuckle. This is absurd. A blowjob in the locker room is one thing, but renting a hotel room for a fuck? “How much money did you just win?”

“Don’t worry about it. Get out.”

The foyer is squeaky clean, every surface reflecting the beam of the overhead lamps. Fabio doesn’t know what to pay more attention to: the interior design or the way Majid almost bends over the counter as he argues with the receptionist about an extremely short-notice booking fee. The desk clerk’s eyes keep glancing over to Fabio who is making no visible effort to conceal the reason for their sudden arrival. He wiggles his fingers at her in a sardonic little wave and twists his lips into a chilly smile. She doesn’t put up too much of a fight after that. A slick white card is slid across the counter and Majid pockets it without a word. He’s not very outspoken at the best of times but now he’s gone practically nonverbal. 

The elevator ride is hell. Or maybe payback. Every time Fabio lets his hands stray to Majid, he is batted away.

“Come on,” He whispers as he rubs up against Majid’s side. He slips his fingers under the hem of his shirt, feels the tension that flexes his abs, the soft fuzz of his happy trail that leads to and below his waistband where he continues to strain against his pants, leaking through the fabric. The floor display goes  _ ding ding ding _ . “We’re almost there, what’re you being frigid for now?” He kisses his neck. He licks the sensitive spot beneath his ear. Majid’s pulse is fluttering like a bird beneath the composed exterior. His skin is burning hot.

“Camera.” That’s all Majid grunts out in response as he pushes him off. Fabio groans and rolls his eyes, head tilting back in frustration. It’s definitely payback. Fabio has to grit his teeth and bear it. Or something to that effect. The moment the elevator doors spring open, he is pulling Majid down the carpeted maze of floors to their room. His body feels like it’s melting from the inside out. He can barely see where he’s going. But Majid is right behind him. Here comes the breaking point.

Majid slams the door shut behind them in a swift kick. He has no time to take in the furnishings or the dim moonlight that filters in from the balcony. It is Fabio who has his back turned, startled into stillness by the quality of his surroundings. He’s looking at the lush curtains, the large bed, the TV that’s melted into the far wall. For a brief moment his impatience and thinly veiled arousal are washed away by a spark of genuine awe. It is almost innocent in its sincerity, in its low standards.

But fuck innocence.

He grabs Fabio by the back of his shirt and yanks him around like a dog on a leash. Their mouths crash into each other in an open kiss. He feels a tooth cutting into his upper lip. No matter. Nothing matters. He buries his hands in Fabio’s hair, curls his fingers until he feels a breath hitch on his tongue. It’s a matter of weight and power. Fabio can’t hold himself upright. Majid pushes into him, knocks him over, onto the bed. Fabio laughs as he sinks into the thick cushions and he laughs again when Majid is on him, going for the throat. He kicks off his pants and works on Majid’s shirt while every gear in Majid’s body goes into overdrive. Every taut nerve unloads all its charges at once. He feels his body spasm against Fabio who receives his useless rutting with experienced ease.

“Come here,” He says. It’s an invitation, a welcome, a plea.  _ Come here, he says. _ Majid sinks into him and almost loses his mind with gratitude. The scent of Fabio’s cologne, so thick and intrusive, is like heaven to his starved senses. No more false modesty, no more fucking restraint. Yes, he’s starving. Yes, he’s going to eat him alive. Fabio always knew that. He twists underneath him, wriggling out of his tight clothes while Majid almost bites off the buttons of his sleek purple shirt. They kick off shoes and slacks alike. Loosened belts whip around their hips and they ignite ideas. But that is for later. Need first. Something rips, the unhealthy sound of tearing textile cutting through the familiar soundscape.

“Wait, wait—”

“I can’t.”

How good it feels, Majid thinks, to be so helpless in lust. Drugged. Dazed. He can’t wait. He thinks he will go crazy if he waits any longer. That’s what he wants. He wants to go crazy, come undone. Fabio tosses his shirt aside and pushes out of his slim boxers. Majid bends over him and Fabio arches upward to meet him halfway _. I am losing my mind for you. I must have you _ . All that shit they say. They are onto something there. Majid can’t see anything but the expanse of Fabio’s heaving torso, his shaking legs, the cruel mouth that goes slack with pleasure, stuttering one moan after another, whispering and cursing into the dark.  _ Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.  _ Fucking beautiful, that’s what he is. And right now Majid can think that freely because it’s the truth and there is no room between their bodies for anything else.

Somewhere a clock strikes one. Majid is grunting hoarsely in Fabio’s ear as he thrusts into him anew. The bed shakes beneath them. Fabio’s voice cracks in his throat when he tries to talk. He doesn’t say much of anything anymore. It’s all senseless mumbling now. Gibberish and whimpers and strangled groans. He clings to Majid’s shoulders, half propped up against the headboard and digs his nails into his flesh like they’re butcher’s hooks. It’s always half mating, half bar brawl with them. Majid comes away with scratches, with bite marks, with bruises. Fabio is feral in bed, unburdened by critical thinking. He fucks the way he fights.

It has never felt like this, not with anyone else. Majid can’t remember a single name of anyone that came before Fabio. He’d be hard pressed to recall his own. The process is almost mechanical. He can’t do shit about it. Fabio squirms, calls him back, and Majid follows. He is shaking with exhaustion, but his hips snap forward again. A different angle, a different pace. This is what, the third time? The surging and falling of his arousal is burning through him with a vengeance and saps his strength. Fabio is no better off. His brown hair is clinging to his face in wild tangles, drenched in sweat. He can’t focus his eyes anymore. He is reaching for Majid blindly, his slick fingers grasping him by the jaw, the cheek. There is a kiss but he can barely feel it. They’re both just gasping for the same breath of air. Fabio breaks first. His body tightens in Majid’s grip and his gaze blurs.

“F-fuck, fuck, Majid…” Fabio can only whimper now when he comes. His voice is a thin shadow of its former self. There is no energy left in him for anything more. But it doesn’t need anything more. It just needs this. Majid feels Fabio clench around him, milking him for what he’s worth, while he frantically tugs himself to completion. His climax is overdue and therefore hits him like a damn freight train. It’s a sharp flash of heat and it burns its way through Majid’s brain until all he can see are stars. He fucks into him with brute force, one hand grabbing the headboard for leverage. A sharp pain shoots through his wrist like an afterthought. He’ll take it. It’s all part of the tapestry. He is so sensitive all over every thrust feels like he is skinning himself alive. But there is no stopping until he has pumped out every last drop. Beneath him, Fabio has been reduced to hoarse grunts, drool on his chin. It’s painful. It’s perfect. 

“Yeah,” He whispers weakly when he finally pulls himself away from the sticky mess that he has made of Fabio. No idea what he’s agreeing to. Nobody has asked him a question. He rolls over just enough so not to crush the other man under his weight but he can feel a light touch remaining on his bicep, as if to keep him tethered. “Yeah, I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

He is aching all over. That’s what must have woken him. His shoulders are stiff, his legs cramped up. He is pretty sure he’s developing a major bruise on the back of his head. The rest of him is in no lesser disarray. He feels like something has run him over and the thought of mobilizing what muscular strength he has to his name is far from intriguing. Fabio is lying on his stomach which is a smart move on behalf of his hurting backside. The shower he took earlier was enough of a challenge. But all that aside, the soreness and the exhaustion, he feels fantastic. A pleasant sleepiness is humming in his bones and discourages any attempts at movement. Satisfaction, that is the word. He hasn’t felt anything coming close to that in years. He definitely has never felt so thoroughly, so expertly, fucked before. The location is only an added bonus but nothing to sneeze at. He slowly runs a hand over the expensive sheets. This is the kind of shit people talk about by the thread count. The pillow is still fluffy, even after what feels like hours of tossing and turning. That’s quality for you. He doesn’t mind the dampness that has seeped into the fabric, not yet. It’s still a little warm, too, where Majid’s body has been resting next to him. He sure needed that rest. He was working away like a jackhammer back there. Now he’s in the shower, judging by the noise of a water jet coming from the bathroom.

Fabio takes a moment to congratulate himself. He couldn’t have planned the night any better if he had tried. His Dutch-Moroccan-whatever friend next door has been very accommodating after that initial hiccup. That isn’t a given on most nights. Majid can be difficult. He may look like a middle-aged woman’s (and also Fabio’s) midnight fantasy, but he definitely doesn’t act it. If he weren’t so eager to snap back and bristle and rough it up, Fabio would call him coy. In a way, he’s into it. Majid needs convincing. You have to coax him out of the defense. You have to tempt him. Which of course gives Fabio ample opportunities to present himself in the most flattering light. Who doesn’t want to be thought of as irresistible? It’s a personal pleasure for him to pose and preen and then watch Majid’s IQ, blood pressure and jaw drop.

That is the crux of it, Fabio figures. He needs to feel like he has no choice because, of course, if he had a choice he wouldn’t choose this. All bullshit. The same pseudo-homophobic nonsense they are all fed by the spoonful in their youth. That isn’t any different here than in Backwater, Nowhere, Netherlands. But he humors him. Big guy like that, he doesn’t want anyone thinking he’s gay. God forbid, right? Pathetic, actually. He’s a bit like Ricca in that aspect. They both have that air of ‘I don’t give a shit what you think’ about them, and they don’t, as long as everyone thinks what they’re supposed to. It’s the kind of brooding machismo that is attractive but altogether exhausting to deal with. So they’re very much alike in that. Except,  _ unlike _ Ricca, Majid is actually very fucking gay.

Fabio finally manages to roll onto his side and prop himself up. Another shower doesn’t sound half-bad. He wonders if Majid will care for some company but he’s not too set on that. Every possible itch has been scratched. His id has curled up into a purring sleeping animal. He’s good out here. After a moment during which he lets the constant roar of the water lull him into a daze, he finally swings his legs over the edge of the king-sized bed and drags himself into a standing position. His knees buckle for a second when a sharp pulling pain shoots through his hamstrings but he sticks the landing. The small balcony promises fresh air and a cool breeze so he slips out there. His boxers are an afterthought but he twists his legs into them on the way and bites back a wince when he pulls them up over his maltreated ass.

Beneath him, Rome sprawls out like a beached deep-sea creature, something with countless tentacles and dead eyes, bioluminescence blinking along its nerve fibers. That’s just the nightly traffic, pulsing at the intersections. Nothing quite so fantastical. Just the push and pull of rotten people working rotten jobs, everybody unhappy in their own little way, everybody feeling cheated and played and screwed. Fabio finds himself floating above that now. It’s kind of beautiful, from a distance; from the comfort of a balcony in a hotel room he doesn’t have to pay for and with the afterglow of three orgasms licking up and down his brainstem. He can’t see Tor Bella Monaca from here. 

He wants a smoke. He had one after Majid finally collapsed on top of him in a gasping heap and graciously rolled his weight off of Fabio’s torso. Majid isn’t a big talker after the deed is done. Fabio gets chatty. That doesn’t mix too well so Fabio allows for a compromise by pilfering a cigarette from Majid’s discarded jeans while that one takes his power nap. That has been some hours ago now, though, and Fabio finds the cool dry air from the hills invigorating. After another browsing gaze at the cityscape, he pushes away from the balustrade and pads back into the dark hotel room. The timing is good. He can hear the distinct absence of noise from the bathroom which means Majid is about to make his triumphant return. He cuts a fine figure when wet, and Fabio doesn’t mind that it is water this time around instead of sweat.

When Majid steps out of the bathroom, he has a towel wrapped snugly around his hips. It’s snow white, almost luminous against his terracotta skin. There are dark spots and lines that bloom along his throat and shoulders. Fabio tries not to look too smug at the sight of the marks he has left. Majid came away from his boxing tournament unscathed but he couldn't boast the same after screwing him. There's a beguiling intimacy in this.  _ Look how close I was to you _ , the scratches say.  _ Look what I can give to you that the rest of them cannot. Something that lasts. _

Majid drips onto the carpet where he slowly pushes himself back into the room. But something is off. A grim shadow has fallen over his eyes; a far cry from the bright, fiery lust with which he has looked at Fabio before. He isn’t too shocked by that shift. Once the blinders of an impending orgasm fall off, Majid tends to revert to his wary, reclusive persona, the man with the fists constantly balled at his sides. Annoying guy, but lucky for them both, he is no less attractive for it. Fabio isn’t cursed with lacking self-esteem. He knows that he could have Majid drooling and on his knees within ten minutes. He’s pretty sure, anyway. The aloof glance he is treated to now doesn’t put a dent in that thinking.

“What?” Fabio prompts him and puts his hands on his hips. It is failing its usual effect since he’s not wearing anything except his underwear, but he figures the idea comes across.

“We gotta be more careful.” Majid exhales the words as if he has been choking them down all night. He walks past him and sits down on the bed to pull on his socks. He is very careful not to open his little statement up to discussion, that is for sure. He industriously tugs his socks into place.

“Is that what we gotta be?” Fabio can’t help it. The tone rubs him the wrong way. He decides to prick him back. “And why should we do that, exactly?”

Majid glances up, perfectly inconvenienced. It’s the kind of expression he wears best. Fabio thinks there was a time when he used to smile more. But that’s been a while. It’s not the Majid he met, just some dead long gone version of him, before life took a shit on his plate. The Majid he met only snorts at him now. “Did you hit your head too hard, or what?” Ballsy fucker.

Fabio arches his brows, dares him to go on. Majid is looking for his pants. He is starting to get flighty.

“This was a mistake-- You can’t jump my bones in public like earlier. I don’t care how hot you get under your collar, okay? We almost got caught back there.”

“Yeah, it was hot.” Fabio sneers back into Majid’s grimace. “The fuck do you want from me, man? You weren’t complaining. We weren’t even in public. We still aren’t.” He makes a sweeping gesture to draw attention to the hotel room and their clothes that lie strewn about the place in headless chaos. “This wasn’t my idea either. Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted to wine and dine me first.”

He laughs but it comes off more coldly than intended, and Majid visibly recoils into a muttered “Fuck you, too, man.”

Fabio got his work cut out for him with this one. Some of it is familiar. He has fallen in and out of beds with the type before; the types that need someone to hold their hand after and assure them it’s not gay if they top. But there is more to it. Majid isn’t quite as dumb as the people Fabio usually hooks up with. At times, he even proves the brand of cunning Fabio can appreciate on a professional level. So he probably knows he can’t hide behind his ‘no homo’ stance forever, only getting his cock sucked where no one can see it. Majid isn’t very passionate about his play-acting either. Who knows who this little dance is for? Nobody who gives a fuck, he’ll bet.

Majid has meanwhile pulled his shirt back over his head and is struggling into his pants. It’s a rare occasion, if you can call it that, to see that man in full retreat. His movements are gaining speed, like he can’t get out of here fast enough. That, too, isn’t unusual. But Majid isn’t just a one-night-stand at this point. Not that he’s planning on settling down in Garbatella with him, but after the fifth hasty meeting in the backroom, it is getting stale. He can let him run, of course. Fabio considers it. That’s the path of least resistance. And he’ll have the minibar to himself afterwards. But there’s another, albeit less mouthy, part of him that isn’t too keen on drinking by himself in an empty hotel room, no matter how luxurious. Decadence is only fun if you got someone to flaunt it for.

Fabio slips in beside Majid and grabs the hand that is struggling with the zipper of his pants. “Can you pump the brakes for a second?” He snaps at him in exasperation. There’s not enough energy left in him for genuine annoyance but it's enough. Majid does stop. They both seem equally startled by the interruption. They are veering off course.

“It’s 3 AM. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Fabio thinks he’s making a pretty good effort. It’s not like he doesn’t like Majid. He clearly likes him quite a bit. He’s not out to chase him off. So he softens his voice, lessens the grip on Majid’s wrist until his nails aren’t digging crescent shapes into his skin anymore. “Relax, okay? Nobody’s gonna kick in the door. We got a hotel room to ourselves tonight. You want to waste that?” When Majid doesn’t immediately respond, Fabio simply covers his part, too. “Of course not. What’s the issue, you don’t wanna cuddle?”

The horror-struck look he’s given is rewarded with a scornful laugh. That one, he can’t help. “You’re a good lay, but not that good. This is just sex, man. So don't be a little bitch about it now just 'cause you don't like to think about where you blew your load. Here’s an alternative- you love those, right? You calm the fuck down. Lose the shirt, and we’ll get extremely drunk on extremely overpriced liquor and watch whatever’s on pay TV.” He takes him by the shoulder and gives him a little shake, as if the stony unease that’s pulling Majid away is something he can hear rattling around in his rib cage, something he can shake loose.

“Eh? Sounds better than drama, doesn’t it?”

At long last Fabio manages to wrench a thin smile from that reluctant mouth. Majid is no less torn than before but now at least he feels stupid for it. The man’s dark stare cuts to him, tired but cushioned by a frame of thick ink-black lashes. Always with the sideways glances, that guy. Always with the private thoughts he rations out in slices. He’s tapped out, Fabio can see that. He probably doesn't have it in him anymore to put up a fight or else he'd already be shoving at him to get away. 

“Fine, whatever.” He relents at last. "Can't get out of it now, I guess." Majid has such a way with words, doesn't he? 

They end up in bed together which is where they always end up. The TV flickers inane pictures at them while they sprawl out side by side. Fabio has an arm thrown over the pillows. Majid has sunken down into the mattress, somehow made himself smaller. After a good five minutes of rapt tapping on the remote control, Fabio finally settles on a music channel that ceaselessly blares glam rock and power ballads at them. That works for Majid since he doesn't want to pay attention to anything. He is half passed out the moment he lies down, eyelids fluttering blearily with each new scene. It's peaceful, even despite Majid’s spirited attempts to darken the mood. There is very little peace to be gotten around here and Fabio doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

They trade the tiny bottles from the minibar back and forth, and Fabio treats himself to a candy bar. He needs the calories, he claims, after the hellish workout he's just been through. Majid doesn’t argue. He isn't in the habit of thinking ahead but he'll curse him when the bill rolls around, that's for sure. A sacrifice Fabio is willing to make. It's really his own fault for allowing him free reign over the expenses.

Eventually the body next to him grows limp. He could've guessed as much. Fabio glances over to find Majid's head lolled to one side, small snores slipping through his parted lips. Unlike Majid, he has no hope for any further sleep. The first edges of sunlight are bleeding into the distant night sky. It looks like a smog cloud, something poisonous. There's a harshness sitting underneath that dawn that scratches uncomfortably at the back of his mind. He doesn't like to be reminded of the city outside. It's calm in here but fragile. One brush with the real world shatters the illusion. And that is what they have on their hands here. An illusion. Something unreal, something useless. A fuck in a hotel room. Doesn't matter how good it feels in the moment. The moment has passed. Somewhere by the foot end of the bed, Fabio's phone starts buzzing with the vocal stylings of Gianna Nannini. He looks up at the disturbance, his features twisted in disdain, lips snarled, brows furrowed. Majid hears it too. He stirs slowly, like a drunkard. Whatever he is muttering, it is lost in the pillow and Fabio's shoulder, "Hmm."

"Sleep. It's nothing." Fabio grunts and carefully pushes Majid's head back into the cushion so he doesn’t wake him when he gets up. It takes him a moment to navigate his tired limbs over to the heap of clothing. He wishes that whoever is on the other end will give up before he can reach the phone but he finally fishes it out to find it alight with Ricca's number. He feels it glaring back at him impatiently. Fabio hangs his head. Fucking hell, seriously?

"What," He snaps into the speaker the second the call connects."Could you possibly want from me right now?"

There are a few beats of silence and Majid listens to it in the dark. He keeps his eyes closed. They’re too heavy and there is nothing to see, anyway. But he listens, to the rustling of fabric, to the hushed rapidfire Italian that’s so riddled with slang that he has no idea what it is trying to convey. He listens, also, to the sound of the TV being turned off and a belt being tightened. The cool spot next to him is not going to warm up again. He wonders what time it is. Too late or too early, somewhere in that liminal space. It is easy to slip through the cracks, disappear down a corridor, during an hour like this. And whoever gets left behind, he has to wonder what came before that. It’s all confined to memory now, and flesh and blood, all that body heat, turn to shadows on a distant wall. None of it is real, in the end. How convenient. He closes his aching fist around the empty air where Fabio had been. 

The door opens and closes. Majid rolls over and goes back to sleep.


End file.
